


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by indestinatus



Category: NCIS
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Christmas, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn, Snowed In, all the tropes inside a very christmas fic, kissing under the mistletoe and everything, merry christmas!!!, they've got no clue they like each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indestinatus/pseuds/indestinatus
Summary: On the drive back to the navy yard, a heavy snowstorm locks Tony and Ziva inside an inn filled with a holiday spirit way too sweet for their taste.Nothing like spending a Christmas snowed in with the person you hate - and maybe learn a thing or two about love.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	1. Winter's Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benditlikepress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benditlikepress/gifts).



> I tried my best to write the complete fic in time but ended up with only 2 finished chapters so I'll post the other 3 as soon as possible. 
> 
> Finally writing the enemies to lovers fic I've been wishing for so long :') timeline is season 5-7ish (read this as "I have no idea"). Hope you like it!
> 
> Happy holidays!

Everything is blinding white. It’s like someone is holding a big spotlight right to her face, hidden only under a thin layer of clouds. So thin, light is escaping all at once in rapid buckets of snow. She had never seen a storm this heavy - it is as if even the sky is angry, piercing the atmosphere to let all that rage out in gushes of wind and frost.

Ziva looks to the man squinting his eyes at the blizzard and understands the anger of the sky. She can’t really pinpoint why, but the way he’s leaning over the steering wheel as if it would somehow help brings a boiling sensation to her stomach. The windshield wipers are stroking back and forth with all they’ve got, but it feels like someone is shaking the sky to get rid of all the remaining traces of winter.

Tony clicks his tongue at the road and Ziva swears to all the gods that brought that snowstorm upon them that if he does that one more time, she’s gonna show them what real anger looks like. The quiet hum he’s been doing for the past half an hour was enough to let her clenching her teeth, but at least he’s not whistling. She knows he likes to whistle when the silence stretches, and he knows it annoys her—which only annoys her even more.

Ziva rolls her lip inward and inhales a bloom of pine. Whatever Tony misted in there before they got to the crime scene is going to follow her around the rest of the day. She wonders if it is to disguise the smell of sex, which is certainly possible. The black lace bra she found under the passenger seat the other day wasn’t one to easily forget - and she briefly wonders if it belongs to the same woman. 

_How many women have had sex in that car?_

Ziva glances at the back seat, but only finds a few candy wrappers and shopping receipts discarded without care. _And who was he, a teenager?_ She knows Tony only has a single bed (like a child, which goes well with his personality), but to have sex in the back seat is something she hasn’t done in a _very_ long time. Though of course Tony would. He’s the kind of guy that would have sex anywhere, whenever possible, and with whoever available.

Ziva wonders if the black lace owner knew that.

Tony huffs out a breath through his nose, and Ziva remembers her irritation with his fidgeting. That man has no control of standing still, and it drives her mad more often than not. He’s now wiping the front window with the sleeve of his jacket, but Ziva _knows_ it won’t help. The back of her neck starts to itch at how he’s wasting their time as the car slows down while he does that - and she inhales the heavy smell of pine one more time as she tries to find some self-control. The dull but blinding white of the snow has given her a headache, and Ziva wonders if it also has anything to do with the fidgety driver. 

She gets her answer once Tony starts to whistle.

Ziva doesn’t move her head but glances at him from the corner of her eyes. She feels her lower lip tremble a little at how both his eyebrows are up, clearly in attempt to provoke her. And it’s a Christmas song, no less. She knows that because it’s on the radio frequently, this time of year. And it’s way too sugary for her taste. Holiday season, that is.

She really hates his whistling. She hates how his lips seem too relaxed and too tight at the same time, and she hates how good he is at it. She hates the face he pulls when he catches her staring, and quite frankly, sometimes Ziva wonders if there’s anything in him bearable enough to not dislike.

Tony’s gaze flickers to her then, and Ziva glances away to not let him know how much he can affect her. He must have noticed it, though, because Tony lets out the shortest amused huff. Ziva bites the inside of her cheek until it starts to hurt, cursing herself because of it.

 _Would the heavy dose of pine be enough to cover the smell of his body when she kills him?_ Probably, considering that no one will come looking for them in the middle of that blizzard.

 _And where are they, anyway?_ She knows it has been almost an hour since they’ve left their suspect’s house, where it wasn’t even snowing. Gibbs and McGee took him in their car while they collected the witness’ statements and evidence of the crossfire that happened when they burst into the house - but that had been _hours_ ago. 

Well, with Tony driving as if they’re on thin ice, Ziva isn’t surprised. She wonders when will the Americans learn how to properly drive, if ever. At least the ones she knew, knew nothing about getting from one place to another efficiently.

Ziva regrets for the tenth time during that trip for not having fought longer for the car keys.

She tries to ignore Tony’s whistling but, good heavens, he can be loud when he wants to. The song he was singing came to an end and he started another one, and Ziva takes some time questioning knocking him out only for the chance of some peace and quiet. They would certainly get back to the navy yard faster, and then she would get to go home and…

Tony raises his hand and turns on the radio, and as the typical Christmas bells start echoing inside the car, Ziva wonders if the steam she’s seeing is from the fog outside or from her anger.

“ _It’s the most wonderful time of the year_ ,” Tony sings loudly, his voice mockingly grave.

Yes, maybe if she hit that specific spot just under his ear, she could get control of the car and drive them back. Yes, that was a possibility.

“ _It’s the hap-happiest season of all_ ,” Tony continues, stretching every syllable.

Ziva turns slowly to face him, knowing that her annoyance can barely be contained. Tony keeps looking at the road, but his gaze flickers to hers as Ziva turns off the radio, his voice dying mid-sentence.

“Oh, don’t be such a buzzkill,” Tony looks affronted but makes no attempt of turning the music back on again. “It’s almost Christmas. Everyone loves Christmas. Where’s your holiday spirit, David?”

Ziva sends him a tight smile. “I do not celebrate it. And even if I did, perhaps he jumped out of the window without the hope of arriving at our destination still this year.”

“Hm. Aren’t you the most perfect carpool pal?” Tony sends her a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Oh! I’m sorry if fate decided to mess with us today and I’m trying to get us back safely during a freaking avalanche, Miss. Perhaps next time, you can ask the snow not to fall? I’m sure your sweet disposition would convince it.”

“Do not worry. Next time, you will not be the one driving.”

Tony’s laugh is chilling. “Our service does not meet your standards? I apologize. We have sweets in the glove compartment, years of excellence on our backs, and a very strong need of not dying in the middle of nowhere because some Israeli decided to propel this car back to Washington in the strongest blizzard I’ve ever seen.”

Ziva starts seeing red. “The way you are driving, we will only get home next season.”

“Home? Isn’t your home in the desert?”

“Do not patronize me. You are the one not knowing how to drive during a simple snowstorm.”

“Simple?” Tony huffs out a mocking chuckle. “What’s simple in not seeing a thing past my nose?”

“You just need to go straight ahead!” Ziva points to the road annoyed, “I really do not know what is hard in that. We are practically going backwards!”

“I rather go back than go blindly and die off a hidden cliff.”

“There is no cliff!” Ziva protests.

“And how would you know that?” Tony asks condescendingly.

“We are not in the mountains. We are literally just crossing the same road we made earlier but in the opposite direction.”

“I’m sure I saw some mounts.”

Ziva rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sa- what mounts?”

Tony shrugs, saying, “Some slopes here and there.”

“There are no mountains!”

He frowns, “Where’s this avalanche coming from, then?”

“Why would a snowstorm need mountains?” Ziva pleads, annoyed.

“Don’t you know geography and stuff?”

Ziva shakes her head, tired of talking about such nonsense. “Would you please just… hurry up.”

“What’s the rush? We already caught the killer.” Tony gives her a fake smile, knowing exactly what was her rush. He’s probably been stretching their time together all along, slowing down only to drive her mad.

Ziva huffs exasperatedly at how the time seems to not be passing at all.

“I should have gone with McGee.”

Tony chuckles sarcastically. “Tim McGee under this blizzard? He wouldn’t have the spine to fight it, poor Probie. Would surely burst from distress in the middle of it and give up. The boy isn’t made for danger.”

Ziva raises an eyebrow. “And you are _how_ , exactly?”

“Well, aren’t we still alive? I’m an all-knowing modulator of danger, David. It runs in my blood.”

“Of course.”

Tony glances at her from the corner of his vision, then declares amused, “Just because you’re the sassy assassin between us, doesn’t mean I can’t handle some trouble.”

Ziva narrows her eyes at how dubious the sentence seems - as if it was _her_ the trouble he’s referring to, and not just the snowstorm. The time it stays hanging in the air and the huff Tony lets out when she makes no comment about it confirms her suspicion - that this was just another one of his games, after all.

Ziva is getting tired of games. 

“Thought you said it was not simple,” she deadpans.

“I can make it simple,” he sounds smug. “I am that good.”

“And here I was thinking you make it ten times more complicated,” Ziva lets out under her breath.

“What?” he asks, frowning a little. She thinks he heard her.

“Hm.” Ziva lifts her nose, staring at the road straight ahead. It looks as white as ever. Some cars pass the other side of it and its blurry headlights bring a pounding pain back to her head. This day is lasting forever.

“Baby can go anywhere,” Tony says after some time of silence and Ziva is surprised it took him so long to talk again. His voice usually annoys her every couple of seconds. “Years in my hands and still holding tight.”

Ziva squints her eyes, then pinches the bridge of her nose as she understands what he means.

“You named your car ‘Baby’?”

Tony eyes her with a strange look, almost awkward as he says, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

Ziva’s frown deepens. “What corner?”

Tony’s expression falls and the look he casts her is as dry as the firewood she bought the other day for her fireplace. Ziva’s desire to go home suddenly increases.

“I should have picked McGee,” he states flatly.

“Ha!” Ziva laughs bitterly. “As if he would have preferred you.”

Tony’s lips stretch into a tight smile. “I’m his best friend and Senior Field Agent.”

“I am more agreeable,” Ziva replies and gets annoyed at how Tony presses his lips together as if she just told him a joke.

“Really?” he asks, inhaling.

“Yes,” Ziva replies dryly.

“Agreeable,” Tony repeats, then cracks a sarcastic smile that makes her grow even more bitter. “You’re a funny little thing, David.”

Ziva’s upper lip curl inward. “And you are insufferable.”

“I am insufferable?”

“Terribly.”

“Then what are you?” he asks sweetly, adding, “Agonizing?”

Ziva feels a shudder at the back of her neck at how irritated she’s feeling. She can’t believe how a person can be such an idiot and so smart at the same time, and it annoys her to a degree that she has to close her eyes to breathe properly. She wants to show him what ‘agonizing’ really means, but Ziva tries to tone it down. The possibility of using her skills to silence him arises again, but she digs her nails into her thighs until it starts to hurt through the thick fabric, controlling her annoyance to a numbing stillness.

When she opens her eyes again, Tony has changed highway lanes to the slowest one.

Patience depleted in a blink, Ziva grabs hold of the steering wheel and makes a sharp turn to the left, making the car slide in a way that almost hits a large pickup truck. The owner honks loudly at them and Tony curses with a wide look her way, his knuckles turning white next to her own still tightly gripping the steering wheel.

“Ziva.” Tony’s voice is laced with reproach but he returns his eyes to the road. “What the hell are you-”

They fight for the steering wheel again and Ziva succeeds in passing another vehicle in front of them, even if Tony’s control of the breaks makes it a bit more dangerous than it would normally be.

“Let’s trade places,” she asks, still awkwardly trying to control the car. She can feel his hot breath on the side of her cheek but decides to ignore it for the time being.

“ _Let it go_ ,” Tony hisses, aggressively pulling one of her hands out of the steering wheel.

Ziva hastily places it back again, now with her fingernails digging into his knuckles. Tony’s hands are cold, but the air is somehow feeling hotter.

“You cannot drive,” she says through gritted teeth.

“And you drive like a maniac,” Tony sneers back.

“At least I get the car moving.”

Ziva pulls the car sharply to the left again, almost hitting a snow-covered van. The stream of honks comes as expected, and Tony curses loudly on her ear as they sway back to the right.

“You’re going to kill us all!” he barks with a sharp glance her way.

“There is only you and me here!” Ziva yells back.

“And Baby!”

Ziva laughs bitterly, clenching her jaw. “Oh, yes. Can not forget your stupid car.”

She feels Tony’s grip on the steering wheel tighten as she forces it to turn to the extreme left, invading the opposite lane. The car moves in a strange sequence of a sharp stop, followed by a speed-up and then another one with even more hurry - a combination of Tony controlling the breaks and Ziva guiding the car - in order to not directly hit a large truck coming the opposite way.

The loud honks now make Ziva’s heart beat faster, perhaps because if the truck had one more layer of paint, they would have surely have hit it headfirst. Under her brief distraction, Tony manages to get control of the car again, and she hastily lets go of the wheel when she feels that her hands are now trembling.

Tony lets out a heavy breath, his hand patting the sweat off his forehead as they get back to the slowest lane.

“Fuck,” he curses more to himself than to her. He’s driving even slower now, but Ziva lets it pass. Until her pulse slows down, at least.

“Gee,” Tony sighs, now facing her with a look of disbelief. “You mad woman.”

Ziva stays silent, catching her breath. She refuses of letting him win this one, though it’s clear that she was way too reckless. He frequently makes her feel that way - the urge of crossing lines churning inside her chest a daily issue. Something about him makes her want to punch a hole in the wall, or even scream at the sky—it’s as if he’s the one thing in her life she cannot control at all. It’s not as much as controlling what he does, but rather herself and her actions - the way she constantly forgets her own limits when he’s around drives her mad on a daily basis.

Tony aggressively turns the radio on again, and the sweet Christmas song that echoes inside the car is so in contrast with the heavy air, Ziva fights the urge to suddenly laugh. Instead, she focuses on the racing pulse in her ears, and how annoying his heavy breathing feels on her side—maybe even worse than the whistling. 

“Stop the car,” Ziva demands quietly, her voice wrapped in steel.

“What?” Tony asks her but turns the music even louder. 

Ziva feels the anger boiling again at the pit of her stomach. “Stop your child or whatever it is!” she snarls, and Tony winces a little. 

“Baby.” 

“Yes, Baby!”

Ziva’s voice sounds like a wolf growl, and her eyes must be looking as dangerous as she lets herself feel, because Tony obliges her and stops the car. She gives him no explanation before angrily pulling the passenger door open and slamming it a second later, with much more force than necessary. The cold air instantly makes her cheeks ache, and the wind feels stronger than from inside the shelter of the car. 

Ziva opens the back door only to grab her winter coat and scarf and forces herself to ignore Tony’s disbelieving look. 

“What-” he starts, but she cuts him short, closing the door. 

Hurriedly pulling her clothes and grabbing the gloves from inside her pockets, Ziva does her best to protect herself, but it’s still freezing. The wind is so strong it’s difficult to simply walk, and suddenly her headache feels worse. The large clouds must have obscured the sun, because now the sky is gray, and way darker - as if it indeed matches her mood. 

Trying to regain some composure, Ziva pulls her neon-orange beanie down to her forehead. The already thick layer of snow crunches under her feet as she stomps away from Tony’s car, and only _then_ does she realize she hasn’t got a clue where she’s heading—but anything is better than staying another second with _him_. 

“Hey!” Tony calls, and from the sound of his voice, it seems like he followed her out of the car. “Ziva! It’s the middle of a snowstorm!”

Ziva hears one door opening and closing, and then another one doing the same. He must have also grabbed his coat—though she stays staring straight ahead, only fog and snow everywhere she turns and scarce cars with blurry headlights passing from time to time. 

“Yes, I am not blind, Tony.” 

Ziva continues to march through the snow, biting her pride away when the wind reveals itself as almost impossible to fight her way through. Inside the pockets of her coat, Ziva’s hands are fisted, but she holds her chin high as if the snow isn’t as treacherous to slip as it certainly seems. 

“Then what are you doing?” Tony catches up, still putting his coat on. “You’ve really gone mad.”

“Yes!” Ziva turns on her heel only to send him a sharp look. “You drive me mad! That’s the whole issue.”

“So you rather face this blizzard by yourself than letting me drive us back?”

“I would rather face a whole ice age by myself if it means not having to spend another minute with _you_.”

Tony spends some time with his mouth hanging open but recovers quickly. “Wow,” he says, and for a split second Ziva fears the coldness in his eyes. “Then suit yourself.”

“I will,” she spits back, her lip curling inward. 

Feeling her shoulders trembling but unsure if it’s from anger or from the cold, Ziva restarts her unplanned walk. She doesn’t know if she’s running away from the idiotic man that makes her insides boil or for another reason entirely.

All the things he makes herself feel? Or the lack of control she gets whenever he does anything? She certainly doesn’t like it - how much he can affect her - and if she has a possibility to not address that anytime soon, it is surely plausible, right? 

Ziva doesn’t really know what she wants but decides to lie to herself again.

Walking away from the things that confuse her, his name is a loud echo in her mind even though she tries her best to ignore him. She wants to kick all that snow until it turns to ashes. She wants the blizzard to hit harder, at least to give her a distraction. 

Ziva closes her eyes at how her heart gives that uncalled flip when he speaks again, something that she didn’t even know she was waiting for. 

“Yes. Yes, you will,” Tony materializes next to her, sounding cross. “And you know what else will you do? Get sick. Have pneumonia and die, with your fingers black from frostbite and the weather finally as cold as your heart. And I don’t care. I won’t come back to get you, because you chose to stay. You chose to spend your Christmas all alone, so suit yourself.”

Ziva casts him the driest look she could muster, even if inside, his words sting like poison. 

“Are you done?”

Tony’s eyes are fuming as he answers, “Not quite.”

“I forget how dramatic you can be.”

Ziva turns away again, praying her facade is good enough to derail him. She fails. 

“And you-” Tony grabs her arm and Ziva instantly looks to where his gloved hand touches her. “You are, without a trace of doubt, the most bitter person I know. First you complain about Christmas music, Christmas music! Who doesn’t like Christmas carols? Surely only a heartless person.”

Ziva yanks her arm away as she rasps, “We all have different tastes.”

“And your only emotion is bitterness. I bet that in two days, you’ll be in your living room, alone, without a single person wishing you Merry Christmas. Because who would-”

“I do not celebrate Christmas!” Ziva interrupts, and her throat hurts from the effort of raising her voice. 

Tony only laughs back, and the want to punch that smirk off his face gets higher increasingly fast. 

“No surprise there,” he says. “Witches only celebrate Halloween, from what I’ve heard.”

She turns to face him entirely and is too proud to back away when they almost hit each other face to face. Ziva had no idea he was this close, but suddenly she sees herself in Tony’s green eyes, brow furrowed in anger and face as cold as ice. Ziva soothes it for half a second but turns back to it. She sees no break of character coming from him, as expected.

_How can he not be affected by this awful closeness when she has to control herself so much?_

“Careful,” Ziva replies quietly, hoping he’ll think it’s because of her rage, not because she’s focusing hard not to glance at his lips right now. 

“Or what?” Tony chuckles sardonically, making matters easier. She hates him again. “The great Ziva David will kill me with her mythical ninja skills? Left my body to rot in the snow? Because you sure didn’t almost kill us right now, driving us into the wrong lane!”

Ziva’s blood starts to boil and she grits her teeth, “It did not happen.”

“But it almost did.”

“It did not.”

“But it almost _did_.”

Ziva has to look away, because he’s right. It almost _did_ happen, and it would be because of her recklessness. All her life, Ziva was honed to be contained, to follow orders, to think logically—but he’s the _one thing_ she has no explanation to. He’s superficial and a womanizer, and just so irritating… and that smirk! He has that one specific smirk with the corner of his mouth that makes her want to do crazy things only to wipe it off his face.

It drives her mad and leaves such a big question mark over her thoughts… Ziva simply hates it and she really hates the man. She needs some time alone to come back to her senses again if only to forget him. To remember what it is not to have him constantly bickering and breathing down at her neck.

She wants to go home. 

Tony puts his hands on his hips, scowling. “If it wasn’t for my car in such a good state, we would’ve surely crashed-”

“Your car,” says Ziva, her voice tight. 

“Yes, my car. In fact, you should be thankful I’m giving you a spot next to-”

“Tony,” she calls with urgency, pointing to a place behind him, “Your car!”

“What?” Tony’s frown deepens. 

Then he turns over his shoulder and Ziva can pinpoint the exact moment when his heart shatters, falling onto the snow and breaking into a million pieces. Tony runs to his car, which is now disappearing over the horizon down a hill that must have previously been obscured by all the fog. 

“My car!” Tony’s voice is strangled. “Baby!”

Ziva arrives a moment later, when he’s already with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and staring at what was his car. Now it’s upside down and Ziva startles a bit at the loud crackles coming from the engine, sparks flying at something now definitely broken.

For a brief moment, Ziva ponders placing a hand on Tony’s back but decides quickly that he needs no comfort. It’s not her place nor her duty to do that, and so she retrieves it midair. 

She’s pleased with her choice when Tony suddenly stands straight again, a wild look on his face she has never seen before. 

“I warned you about the hidden cliffs!” Tony trembles, baring his teeth. “This is all _your fault_.”

Ziva’s fury springs to life. “How is it _my fault_? I was not the one driving!”

“You made me _stop_ driving!”

“I did not make you forget such a simple thing as pulling the hand brake!”

Tony clenches his jaw, then gestures emphatically to the wind, “You distracted me with all this nonsense!”

Ziva stares at him, and can’t control herself as she steps closer, pushing a finger hard on Tony’s chest. “You are the incompetent one who does not know a thing about anything!” Her anger feels good. Yes, it feels like a release. 

“Oh, and _you_ do?” Bitterness drips from Tony’s tongue, and Ziva can see the puff of cold air as he huffs. “Like being grateful and charismatic and friendly, are you familiar with those concepts?”

He snaps her hand away from his chest, and Ziva needs to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her recklessness in check. She can see him simmering with anger, and suddenly there isn’t a clear thought in her mind other than - she hates this man. She hates him with every fiber of her being, she thinks she never experienced this type of emotion before. She wants to punch him until he cannot speak her name and she wants him to repeat it until it’s the only thing he can say. 

Rage flows through her like lava, and Ziva can’t think straight. She can only stare at him, their foreheads almost touching as both of them boils with anger. She can see their heavy breaths cold in the air, but his feels hot on her skin. Tony’s eyes are so green she can’t look away. She thought they were blue for some reason. _How had she never noticed that before?_

“I am if the person I am speaking to isn’t a total asshole,” Ziva spits at his face. She feels so hot it’s like she’ll burst with this foreign feeling—the snow suddenly feels not cold enough. 

Tony chuckles bitterly. “I’m an asshole now?”

“Do not lie to yourself, you always were.”

Ziva is breathless with rage as she backs away, crossing her arms against the cold and marching in the opposite direction. She can’t believe she tried to show an ounce of sympathy for this man when all he does is joke about everything and treat her poorly. If she stays a moment longer, she’ll certainly do things she’ll later regret. Knocking him out, for example. Kissing him without warning only to see the wild look of despise on his face. 

She curses under her breath when he catches up again. _Can’t he leave her alone for one minute?_

“Wait, what about my car?” Tony sounds breathless too, as if he stayed a moment questioning if he should follow her and then ran to where she was. Ziva seriously can’t believe he’ll blame her for that accident. She won’t pay one cent for that junk of a car. 

“I guess she went to Baby heaven,” she replies, sending him a tight smile. 

Tony pulls his phone from his pocket. “There’s no signal in here.”

Ziva doesn't need a signal. She just wants to _leave_ , for heaven’s sake. 

“Truly a shame.”

Tony grabs her arm again, asking, “Where are you going?”

Ziva wants to scream. She’s visibly shaking when she yanks it again from his grip.

“Away from you.”

“But it’s freezing!” Tony chuckles disbelievingly. “You’re just going to wander around until you stumble onto a castle or something?”

That’s exactly what she’ll do. Exactly that. But she doesn’t answer him, because he doesn’t deserve an answer. Let him figure it out for himself, she just needs to _go_. Away, the furthest she can from him. 

“Ziva.” Tony sounds like he’s trying to press down his anger. “My car just fell down the hill. We have no phone signal. You can’t just leave.”

Yes, she can. And yes, she will. 

“Watch me,” Ziva replies, trembling. 

“You’re my partner.” His words don’t sound nice at all, it’s almost as if he’s reminding her of an obligation. He isn’t her boss and he _really_ isn’t someone she respects. She owes him nothing. 

“Since when?”

“Since you decided to trade places and work for the U. S. of A,” Tony blurts the words with anger as if he can’t control himself either. “How selfish can you be?”

Ziva lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You talking about selfishness? _You_?”

“Stop turning this on me.”

“You’re the one who cares more about a car than your ‘partner’,” Ziva says with air quotes. She knows he hates that and Ziva smiles inwardly when Tony’s lower lip starts to tremble like an angry wolf. 

“She treats me better than you ever will.”

“I am not obliged to treat you in any kind,” she snaps. Ziva halts, immobilized by fury. “You annoy me with everything you do. You are shallow and do not take anything seriously and want everything on your own way. Let’s not even enter the topic of women. You spend every minute of every day coming up with little things only to irritate me, and guess what? Congratulations, you succeeded. I cannot stand you.”

Tony only stares at her, unblinking. 

“Right,” he says. “And you’re the sweetest partner of all, yeah?”

“I am not your partner. Only coworker.”

“That doesn’t erase the fact that you’re a cold-hearted woman who refuses to open up or like anything with the fear of finding happiness. You’re not worthy of it, anyway. I hope you spend all your holidays the same way as ever - alone or strained to your hollow dictator of a father.”

Ziva stills, though inside she’s smoking with anger. “Do not go there.”

“Or what?” Tony chuckles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You only throw threats at me for no reason. I’m not one of your pets, Ziva. _I’m not scared of you_.”

His words pierce the air like a knife. It hits right on her chest, and Ziva suddenly feels nothing at all. She can feel her heart racing, and she feels her hands trembling, but she doesn’t feel angry anymore. She goes past that point, she feels tired. She feels tired of trying to control him like she can with other people, and that’s why she hates him. She hates that she can’t foresee his actions, and she can’t manipulate him. She thinks sometimes it’s the other way around - she feels so reckless and bold so frequently, it’s like he’s the one controlling _her_. 

She stares at him and is confused by Tony’s scowl softening a bit. 

“You…” he starts, raising a hand midair. 

“What?” She asks, her heart still racing. 

“You have snowflakes on your eyelashes.”

Ziva doesn’t blink. She only stares at him with her arms crossed, trying to control her breathing. She can only hear the pulse loud in her ears and the wind howling. Tony’s hand is still hanging between them, and she glances at it. 

“Stop following me,” Ziva says, her tone deadly. 

Tony blinks but recovers quickly. In a second, he retrieves his hand and is scowling again, his jaw clenched. 

“I really rather perish under all this snow than follow you anywhere.” He starts walking first, and Ziva is annoyed it seems like now she’s the one following _him_. “We’re only going in the same direction.”

Tony crosses the road and Ziva is too slow to cross it in time before a car zips past. Raising her eyes, she sees where he’s heading - to a rather secluded cabin a few miles away, with lamplight visible from its little windows and smoke coming out of the chimneys. It doesn’t look like a castle, but Ziva is surprised to not have seen it before. Its wooden porch is decorated with Christmas lights and the rooftop and front yard are fully covered in snow.

It looks like a gingerbread house comes to life. 

She hates it immediately. It looks too sweet. 

But she has no choice other than to follow him. Crossing the road running, Ziva almost slips but doesn’t, clenching her teeth. Tony is already fighting the thick layer of snow into the property, where a sign pointing to the cabin reads ‘ _Here at the Holiday Inn, it’s Christmas all year round. Come on in!_ ’. 

She feels nauseated. 

“I do hope you rot,” Ziva manages to growls when she catches up. 

Tony doesn’t glance at her when he says, “And I wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” yells Ziva, her voice echoing through the snow. 

Tony completely ignores her, taking one step and then another up toward the cabin. “I’m going to find phone reception.”

“And I’m-” Ziva feels her heart racing when he stops to stare at her, his brow raising. She has no business being there, but she didn’t see any shelter for miles. Here is her only hope. Or else she’ll die in the blizzard. Frozen by cold or boiled by anger.

“I am going,” says Ziva, and curses mentally when it sounds somewhat awkward.

“Then go,” Tony answers, and his lips twitch into that smirk she hates so much.

God, she wants to hit him. 

“I hate you.” Ziva opens the front door, walking past him to step in first. She smiles over her shoulder. It’s not a kind smile.

“Finally a thing we can agree on. The feeling is mutual,” Tony smiles back. He isn’t kind, either.

Ziva manages to close the door on his face and is immensely pleased with herself.

She may have found a thing she hates more than Christmas.

And she already hates Christmas very much. 


	2. Snowed Inn

Tony loves Christmas. 

Ever since he was little, it’s his favorite holiday. He loves how it’s an excuse for happiness, and he can eat a lot and not think about it (because of all the heavy clothes that can disguise his satisfied belly, that is) and especially because it means another year is ending and that means _partying_. Lots of partying. Lots of women desperately looking for dates, and ones he doesn’t have to worry too much because they won’t last till Valentine’s Day. It’s his personal rule - from Christmas to January. Valentine’s Day wasn’t made for Anthony DiNozzo, no. Too much commitment, that one. 

But not Christmas. Christmas means everyone can forget their problems for five days or so, and he can pretend to be in love until New Year’s Eve. He can eat a lot, and laugh a lot and just enjoy life until he looks like Santa himself, belly filled with pot roast and beard still to be done. Women like that, usually. Carefree guys they can show off to their family on the holidays and pretend to their friends they’ve found _the one_. Until he dumps them, that is. Even the week between the two parties makes his fingers itch, though he can play the good boyfriend until it’s time to go. 

Tony has forever loved Christmas, for many reasons. 

He has a feeling he’s going to hate this one. 

He glances at the woman marching towards the inn’s entrance, her posture straight as if she’s just entering a battlefield. An unending battle, for the matter, one which is already weighing on Tony’s shoulders. He can’t look at her without feeling that churning in the pit of his stomach, that familiar one which has exponentially increased since she made him hit the car he’s been taking care of _for years_ on that stupid, fucking blizzard. 

He wants to shake her. He wants to grab those strong shoulders and shake them until they lose all their strength. He wants to drive her speechless, and he wants her to talk about what’s she’s really thinking, for God’s sake. Tony is usually good at understanding women - brilliant if he can say so himself - but he cannot, for the love of all that’s mighty, understand that one. 

He’s still to find a woman as difficult to deal with as Ziva David. 

How can she pull that face and say he only does things to irritate her when in fact all he does, every minute they’re together, is try to make her crack a smile? Tony has come up with every possible joke he can think of - about the people, about the job, even about the freaking weather - and the way _Ziva David_ cannot crack a single genuine smile for anything makes his blood boil. It became a personal challenge. He remembers being awake one night just thinking about it—until the end of that year, at most, he would make this statue of a woman laugh. And for good. That one laugh that hurts your belly and makes tears stream down your face. 

But as Tony stares at Ziva’s black eyes right before she slams that cabin’s door on his face, all he sees is darkness. Smoky darkness, swirls of fury pilled up by years of an unhappy childhood learning how to be a daddy’s girl and do everything he says and become a fortress, with tall black stone walls around her, and… _Were her eyes always that black?_ Or chocolate brown? Why does he remember them being that specific tone of Hershey’s dark chocolate brown? She must _really_ hate him to be able to change the color of her eyes like that. 

Even better, because he hates her too. Tony is not a guy to hate specific people (other than Debbie from Long Island, his first heartbreak) but he cannot, not even once, look at The Mossad Carrier Pigeon and not feel that burning heat flooding his veins. The despise he has for her is so strong it makes his pulse quicken - something that’s turning even more frequent these days. All they do is bicker and scream at each other, on and on, but he won’t back down. Ha! There’s just no way. If he cannot make her smile, he’ll make her insides turn with anger. Good. At least it’s a real emotion coming from that heartless woman. 

It hasn’t always been this way. No, when she strolled into the bullpen the first day they met, Tony thought she was just a cute girl looking for directions, or something. Beautiful even. With her smart catlike eyes and her so kissable mouth… Perhaps in another reality, she could’ve been one of his dates.

Not on this one, no. It’s almost laughable now that he once thought that. Yes, maybe that was something on the way she slouched on that chair in front of him and the way she smirked when she let her perfect hair loose, but… Now that is long gone. Amazing how appearances can be deceiving. Because even with her still perfect hair and her still kissable mouth, Ziva David is completely rotten underneath. A perfect little apple which fell on his head only for Tony to take a bite and find a disgusting worm inside. She has only given him a permanent headache. Even worse, maybe she’s not even the apple, she’s more like the malevolent snake hanging from the tree. Hissing and snickering until he goes mad. 

She’ll certainly become one of those bitter old ladies who shoos even the sweetest of cats, collecting dust on picture-less shelves and living out of escargot soup from her rich family’s china. She’ll spend all her Christmases alone, watching the snow fall from inside an iron structured building, with her pointy nose angled up and only a loveless career as her proudest achievement. Maybe she’ll have fleeting dates, ones she can use to exploit all that sex appeal of hers until they get hypnotized and she yanks their hearts like a mad siren, trying to find her own. But she won’t be able to, no she won’t. 

Because if there’s a person in the world that was born without a beating heart, it’s Ziva David. No wonder she’s a happiness repellent. She would burst with an ounce of it, unable to carry it. Tony doesn’t know why exactly, but the thought makes him pleased. He cannot understand one thing about her, but one thing he’s certain: it’s one of her weaknesses. And he knows that. And she knows he knows that. And that’s why he isn’t scared of that sharp Mossad weapon—he may be the only one still breathing who knows she’s in fact _afraid_ of feeling anything close to joy. 

He hates her, yes, but some days he almost pities her. Poor girl. She doesn’t know what she’s missing turning him down like that, and Tony hopes she grows even bitter only by thinking about it. It would be a world’s injustice only for him to be dreaming about all that could’ve been if she was a freaking _normal person_. 

May she spend the rest of her days also wondering the same. 

Tony opens the cabin’s door Miss Ziva has just shut on his face with the smartest smirk he can muster, hiding all that he’s feeling in clenched fists and tight muscles as the bell sounds again, a gush of wind and snow announcing his entrance more than the sound of it. 

There’s a young guy promptly standing behind the front desk Ziva is already leaning over with a posture he knows she uses to lure men into her web, and from the sly smile he’s lazily casting her, it’s already working. He’s probably in his thirties and looks to have come straight from an Airplane magazine advertising a trip to the unknown beauties of New Zealand - including the wonders of his full blond beard and strange winter tan - but Tony feels a flicker of sympathy towards the guy. No man can be blamed for finding that Israeli jewel alluring and no man would know at first glance who she really is underneath all that shine. 

A sharp knife you can’t touch without bleeding, honed all her life specifically for that purpose. 

“Hi,” says Tony tightly, interrupting whatever flirting Ziva was doing with her unusual honey voice. She looks at him annoyed, scowling as she returns her posture from over the counter back to normal, taking out her gloves. The oblivious model seems even more oblivious, blinking at the sudden halt on lazy eyes and side smiles. He turns to Tony, and Tony is surprised that he’s seen as no threat. The man doesn’t even narrow his eyes, he just starts smiling—like he already knows Tony won’t make any advances at Ziva. 

Good. Because it’s true. 

“Hello!” The guy’s smile is spotless. Tony wonders if he ever blinded any mountain goats with that white of teeth. “Welcome to the Holiday Inn! How can I help you?”

Tony steps closer to the counter, pointing to the old wired telephone sitting on the desk. “Can I use your phone?” He smiles tightly, and can almost feel Ziva shooting the sharpest daggers from her dark eyes as he adds, “Some disagreeable pain in the ass had nothing better to do and decided to make my car fall down a hill.”

The silence is louder than the snowstorm outside and Tony briefly wonders if he has just bought the fast ticket for his funeral. He doesn’t have to look at Ziva to feel her familiar anger in little waves of heat coming his way, exactly what he was wishing for. 

Tony hides the little flicker of fear he feels under a bland smile directed to the New Zealand top model. The man’s face falls immediately, and Tony likes him a little bit more. At last, someone who takes these matters seriously. 

“Oh my God, dude! Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” grunts Tony.

“ _We_ are fine,” corrects Ziva. 

Tony glances at her knowingly for the first time since their stand-up outside, and pride flickers inside Tony’s chest when he finds that he was right—Ziva’s stare is as hard as the blizzard outside, dark eyes piercing the atmosphere. Tony holds it, not giving her the satisfaction of any fear coming from him. He blinks twice before raising his brow and cast her the side smile he _knows_ she hates, and my God, the way her lower lip curl inside in clear despise makes him forget about his broken car for a second. 

Tony, one. Mossad Mascot, zero. 

“Right,” says the guy behind the counter, and Tony’s gaze snaps to him a second later than Ziva’s—meaning _she_ has lost the staring match. Tony’s pleased. “Sure,” the guy continues, eyes darting between the two of them. Tony clears his throat. He remembers he wanted to make a phone call, right, when the man hands him the wired machine over the table. “Here, there you have it.”

Tony pulls the phone the furthest from Ziva he can, which is a bit awkward. She huffs condescendingly, but he doesn’t care. Well, he has a right for privacy - even if it’s _Probie_ the person he’s pushing the little keys of the outdated phone to talk to. 

“Hm, it’s not working.” Tony frowns at the silent line. 

“Oh, shit, it’s not.” The model snaps his fingers. “I forgot about that. The snowstorm affected the phone line in some way… They’re getting it fixed soon.”

Tony stills.

“Define ‘ _soon_ ’.”

“I don’t know, man… A few days? We’re not close to any big cities, it may be a while until they notice it and come fix it.”

“Well, can’t you reach out to them?”

“Hm, not really. This is the only contact we have with the ‘society’.” He uses air quotes, and Tony scowl deepens at how Ziva starts to smirk. She knows he hates air quotes. “That’s why I like here so much.”

Who’s this guy anyway? Some Christopher McCandless poor impersonation? His unique journey into the depths of Alaska from Into the Wild strangely resembles a lot to this—the falling snow still audible from between the cracks of the frozen windows and heavy woodwork of the cabin’s hall. 

“Right.” Tony huffs. “So, just… Let me get this straight. There’s a snowstorm outside.”

“Correct.”

“No civilization for miles.”

“Accurate,” he adds, as if it’s not the most non-reassuring thing Tony has heard since he got there.

Tony starts to feel a little sick. “I’ve just lost the car I’ve loved for more than fifteen years.”

An expression of clear pity marks the stranger’s face. “Sorry again for that, man.” His gaze flickers to Ziva as if trying to catch any clue of what to say about it, but she’s silent. Of course she is, and Tony wants to laugh. He’s such a fool for thinking she would help. “Hm, maybe it was a sign,” the guy continues a bit awkward, “Material goods-”

“And no way of asking for help?” Tony interrupts, part of him already laughing. It’s ridiculous. 

“Hm,” the guy frowns as if he’s trying to find a silver lightening amidst all of that but failing. Scratching the back of his neck, he settles for, “I’m glad you’re alright, man. This blizzard is really fucking heavy.”

“Hm.” Pressing his lips together, Tony tries to keep from laughing at how purely ridiculous the whole situation is. He just can’t believe it. 

“Do you have any rooms available, Chad?”

Tony’s gaze snaps to Ziva, who’s batting her pretty eyelashes to, well, _Chad_.

_Can a person have a more stereotypical surfer-wanderer-model name?_

Chad looks at her again and cracks a growing smile, and Tony’s previous sympathy for the guy grows weak. Why are people smiling and openly flirting when everything is turning worse by the second? _Can’t they see how grave the problem is?_

“You’re staying?” Tony practically spits at Ziva. She doesn’t flinch, but sends him a disgusted look, which is her way of saying she won’t be fazed by his anger. 

Tony turns even more annoyed. 

“You can stand outside if you prefer.” Ziva fakes a smile. 

“Spend my Christmas in the snow?”

“You like it so much, yes?”

He’s fuming again. He can feel the blood turning hot again inside his veins, and he’s not sure how, but Ziva now stands much closer. Blinking, Tony realizes he has crossed the room to match her stare, and now looks down at Ziva who also blinks as if she just realized they weren’t alone to fight as they like. 

“Oh, I don’t work here,” Chad chimes in, popping his head between them and bringing them back to reality. Tony clears his throat and steps away from Ziva, fumbling with the zipper of his coat.

Chad’s gaze darts between them with a not so discreet question hanging over his head and Tony thinks he sees Ziva blush, but he must be mistaken. She puts her gloves back on, so it must be from the cold. 

He focuses on Chad again. “Then why…” Tony motions vaguely. This whole situation is turning mockingly similar to a plot of a bad movie. A nightmare of a plot. 

“I spend my holidays here.” Chad shrugs as if it’s something very common to do—spend them in a miniature gingerbread house in the middle of _fucking_ nowhere. “Good people, good place. I’m just helping Noah with the counter today.”

“And where’s the prophet?” asks Tony. 

As if summoned, an old man walks in from a back door, carrying a pile of just-collected firewood which he disposes of in the corner of the room. Tony notices there are no visible fireplaces around, and wonders if the cabin is not as small as it seems.

The white-haired man smiles widely, showing wrinkles in the corner of his kind blue eyes. His full white beard makes him look as if he also came from a picture book. 

How lucky can Tony be to stumble upon Santa’s gingerbread house itself? Or _unlucky_ , for that matter?

“Present,” Noah stucks his hand towards them, and Tony’s theory of Santa Claus gets stronger. Ziva looks at him weirdly for a second, and he lets Noah’s hand go.

“Bed and breakfast?” Noah asks promptly, taking a clipboard from under the desk. “Welcome. Sorry about the line not working. Peter, The Fixer came just this morning asking if everything was alright and there was nothing wrong. Who knew how strong the wind could be! Truly a shame.”

Tony barks out a laugh, making everyone turn to him. 

“ _Peter, The Fixer_? This morning?” Tony can’t stop laughing. “You mean, a few hours ago? Is this the plot of a bad movie or something? A joke? Where are all the extras?” He looks around, pointing to the white covered windows and beyond the secret wooden walls. “You can come right out, there’s no need.” He wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes. “Hm, very funny.”

Chad is sending a warning look at Noah probably to attest Tony's sanity, but Noah isn’t focused on him. He’s looking down, and Tony notices Ziva is now crouching next to a rather big, living, moving piece of furniture which has just materialized next to them.

“That’s Luna.” Noah walks around the counter to also pet the energetic golden creature. “She rarely likes strangers,” he says to Ziva, smiling. “You must be really nice.”

“Hilarious,” says Tony, still trying to process. Ziva doesn’t look at him, but he can see her shoulders tensing up. Though everything is so ridiculous he doesn’t care.

That’s it. He figured out. 

They _died_. They actually died and this is the strange dreamlike loop that happens afterward, forever stuck in a frozen car with an infinite playlist of Christmas songs. 

Tony surveys the place, taking in the small hall decorated with heavy woodwork and Christmas lights in every corner. There’s a cork-board behind the counter that must be around his age filled with group photos and postcards that look twice that time, as well as a little lamplight which is the only source of light available, painting the room a faint orange. 

He suddenly wonders if that’s why the snow looked so white.

Tony glances down at his hands, opening and closing them. Though a bit numb from cold, he can feel them. They don’t seem to belong to a ghost. He frowns. 

“One room for the couple?” asks Noah, not raising his eyes from his clipboard until Tony cackles again.

“With every sentence, it gets better.”

“We are not a couple,” intervenes Ziva, her voice tight. 

“Oh, could’ve fooled me,” says Noah, though Tony is annoyed he seems to not have bought it. “My apologies.”

“Two rooms, please,” asks Ziva, tapping the counter. “As far from one another as possible.”

Tony swallows his reaction at her request, hiding behind a poker face. 

“Of course,” Noah nods, then disappears at the back door again only to reappear a few seconds later carrying two different key chains. “Hm, I’m afraid we only have two rooms available, though, and they’re facing one another. We’re quite booked for Christmas, you see. Are you OK with sharing a common bathroom?” 

Tony opens his mouth the same time as Ziva, but Noah is completely unfazed as he hands them their keys without an answer.

“Wonderful,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I’ll take you to it.”

Tony gestures to him to wait. “Would you please tell me _directly_ ,” he says through his teeth with a side glance at Ziva, “As soon as possible, when they get the phone fixed?”

“Of course, Mr…”

“Anthony.”

Noah looks at Ziva then, who is strangely taking too long to answer. Suddenly taken aback, Tony realizes he has just given him his full name, the one only his mother used to call him. 

He must certainly be in the after-life. 

Fucking fuck. 

“Ziva,” she breathes out, but smiles at Noah. It looks real for a split second until she catches Tony studying her. Ziva’s expression closes again and by the minute he’s believing even more in that version of hell. Even dead, she’s bitter. He knew she would forever be like that. 

“Great! Very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay, however short that might be.” Noah motions to a side door, though he immediately halts. “Just one more thing…” He sighs, and it looks as if he’s about to share a problem he’s been trying to solve for some time. “My wife, Josephine, is quite meticulous with people staying here on Christmas.”

It’s Ziva’s time to chuckle.

“Christmas is two days away,” she says.

“True,” replies Noah.

“We will only stay the night.”

He looks at Tony, who for once chooses not to add anything. The least he stays there, the better. The circumstances feel a bit like the beginning of The Shining, and, to be fair, he has absolutely no interest in staying his holidays in that place. 

No, thanks. Santa’s gingerbread house is way too sweet for his taste. Tony would rather go back to Tiffany, The Clingy - a ghost from a Christmas past - than spend the holidays in that too-perfect place. There’s a Golden Retriever, for christ's sake. What’s missing, a _reindeer_?

“Of course, but…” continues Noah, a bit uncertain. “If you do see her, and I know this is a lot to ask of you, truly, but it would be better if you two pretend to be a couple.”

“Hm?” Tony chokes on his own laugh. 

“Ha!” Chad barks loudly. 

“ _What_?” asks Ziva.

Noah looks at them apologetically. “She’s one of those people who sees Christmas as a family holiday, and it would be awfully complicated to make her understand it’s OK for two unrelated strangers to enjoy the holidays here in the inn as they like. I know, it’s completely rude of me to ask you that, but trust me that it would be easier, all things considering. Only when she’s around, of course.”

“Enjoy…” Tony can’t contain his laughter. “Thank you, Noah. I know how complicated women can be. But we won’t stay for Christmas.”

“As you wish. I appreciate it.”

“Right.” Tony’s brow furrows. This man is making a habit of ignoring what they’re implying. There’s no way they will stay for Christmas, and there’s _absolutely no way_ they’ll pretend to be a couple throughout it. As if.

Oh my God, this may be the best-constructed joke ever. 

“Please, you must be freezing!” Noah disappears behind the counter to open an adjacent door which Tony hadn’t noticed earlier. “Let me take you to your room.” He vanishes down a corridor and Tony has no choice but to follow him and Ziva into the cabin. 

“They're just upstairs-” Noah trails off, his voice turning muffled as Ziva looks over her shoulder to cast Tony a dry look. 

“That will never happen,” she says.

Tony chuckles. “As if I didn’t know that. I have standards, Ziva. Who do you think I am?”

“A disagreeable pain in the ass.”

“Hm. Honey.” He smirks at the comeback. “Don’t hurt me this way.”

“Call me that again and I will show you what _really_ hurts.”

“Ziva, Ziva, Ziva. Empty threats won’t get you anywhere. I think it’s time we start training the heart eyes and stolen glances. I’m an expert at playing pretend, so I’ll make an effort for you, but who knows how much training you’ll need to get _that_ believable.”

“We will not be needing it.”

“Really?” Tony narrows his eyes, and Ziva halts on her place. 

“Oh, definitely,” she replies, her eyes sharp for battle. 

He plays his first card. “What about ‘baby’?” asks Tony, scratching his chin. “Now that you got rid of my original one, huh? Were you jealous of it?”

Ziva does a mocking pout, stepping closer to him. “I am _glad_ you lost the car you ‘loved so much’,” she says, using air quotes. 

“At least I have feelings,” Tony says with a bitter taste on his tongue.

“At least I have a brain,” Ziva replies, tilting her chin up to meet him. 

“We’re so good at complimenting each other, don’t you think?” He lets his eyes skim her face, and for a second doesn’t know if Ziva is insulted or surprised by it.

“It’s settled then, I know just how I’ll call you,” says Tony, opening the door Noah has just motioned to as his room. Ziva's whole facade finally falters as he adds with a wink, “See you soon, sweetcheeks.” 

* * *

Tony knows he isn’t in fact dead as soon as he takes a shower. The hot water against his back feels too good not to be true, and as it trails down, he lets his tight muscles relax and breathing slow down. 

He’s in one of those situations where nothing is turning out well, but as there is nothing he can do, he might as well enjoy the ride. No way he would turn down a hot shower and warm fire when the snow is still as fierce as ever outside. 

It does feel like a dream. This strange dream, one he never imagined would happen, but still, something that isn’t _that_ surprising to see himself in. That was one very old car, and a very heavy blizzard for that matter, perhaps it was better to find shelter anyway. At least for a day. 

Tony has no idea how everything will resolve within a day, but it _must_ be only a day. He’ll take a walk tomorrow to find some phone signal. Return to the car to see if there’s anything fixable. Anything - because even if his room is very much pleasant with its own fireplace and four-post bed, no way in hell Anthony DiNozzo will spend his precious Christmas stranded to a rocking chair and drinking aged wine with a too energetic dog and a heartless witch as company. 

He remembers Ziva’s o-shaped mouth when he called her the term of endearment they used in their undercover operation years ago and chuckles in the steam of the shower. It’s almost unsettling how they managed to turn into a couple with a flicker of a switch, though something in Tony tells him that that didn’t really change. As much as they hate one another, both of them would go any distance to get the job done. 

It’s not exactly hate. He can’t name it. It’s this strange, foreign sensation of hating what he feels when he’s around her. This constant insecurity of being unwelcome whenever she looks at him for too long, those alluring dark eyes knowing secrets he can’t discover, not even with his most guarded convincing skills. 

And those eyes, fuck. Sometimes he forgets himself inside those eyes, his body taking control and muting his senses to nothing. Tony always questions what they know, it’s like she sees too much of him and he’s scared of what that means. That’s obviously why she hates him. 

_Why is he thinking of Ziva’s eyes then?_

She hates him. Properly dislike him, disgusted by his presence.

Tony laughs bitterly.

How come he managed to make her hate him when she’s the one woman in his life that made him question so many things?

He halts, letting the water hit his eyelashes. He shouldn’t be thinking of her. She isn’t one of his cute dates. He can’t convince her of anything, much less that he isn’t exactly an _asshole_ , as she called him earlier that day. He can’t believe she called him that. Not that it is a lie, but it’s laughable. 

It’s laughable that the only reaction he manages to get from her is hate. 

So he must do the same.

Stop thinking about the secret smile she holds at the corner of her mouth sometimes - the one he thinks not even the mirror has ever seen. About her quick retorts and that strong attitude, always bickering right back and standing her ground. What Tony wants is one minute when she loses her balance. He knows there’s a hidden, vulnerable Ziva somewhere under that steel armor. 

Or so he hopes. He doesn’t know what to think. One minute he’s asking himself what he should do next to make her smile, but the second they see each other eye to eye, there’s only hate. This strange electricity he has never felt before, it’s like he can't longer control his words or actions. 

At least one thing is certain: Tony doesn’t feel well by this sudden lack of control whenever she’s around. It’s dangerous, this recklessness. He knows he isn’t the most thoughtful person, but over the years, he’s been trying to control this crazy, careless side of him. It’s one thing being spontaneous, but it’s another thing entirely not even think before he agrees to stay in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere just because she’s staying too. 

Tony connects a closed fist to the shower wall. It hurts immediately, and he regrets using so much force. But there’s so much building up inside him, these… doubts he never had. _Why does he let_ her - _of all people - feel this way?_ There’s no way on earth she could ever reciprocate anything. Ziva would rather see his head on a plate than laugh at his jokes, and it makes him so angry. 

Get yourself together, DiNozzo. She’s just a woman. Some day Mossad will certainly demand their mascot back and she’ll be gone from his life before he knows it. It’s better this way, mute his mind to a numb and pretend hate until she’s gone. Take those too-knowing eyes and magnet ability to pull his attention in every room back to Israel. Then, he will know peace.

But as Tony walks out of the shower and glances at the window from his room, something tells him that that peace will take longer to arrive. There’s nothing but snow everywhere, falling with the same force as ever, covering the narrow road he can see up ahead. The sight would have been almost beautiful in other circumstances - the faint lamppost and tall pine trees make him feel inside a snowball of sorts - but Tony knows he’s seeing too much.

And does he know that. All he does nowadays is see things that don’t exist, that flicker of a moment whenever he meets Ziva’s eyes when they finally get silent and he thinks she has finally given in. 

_Why is he thinking about her again?_ Fuck. Stop it. Focus on the snow. Focus on the car and on the upcoming dinner and the strange-looking people in that cabin… What about that Josephine? Will she attend dinner later? Will he need to double-pretend? Pretend that he hates Ziva, then pretend that he likes her?

 _No, what are you thinking? You do hate her. She hates you. There is no pretend, it’s just a coping mechanism to protect yourself._ Tony chuckles. What a marvelous way to protect himself - become an enemy of the dear pet of Mossad. Wow. He really has outdone himself this time. 

He opens the first drawer he finds, looking for dry clothes. His own got completely drenched by the snowstorm, and he wonders if Ziva’s did too…

_Stop thinking about her, goddammit._

Tony puts on the first sweater of the pile he found on the drawer and goes to the bathroom mirror to see if it fits. 

It does. And he barks out a laugh so loud it echoes all around his room.

It’s the ugliest Christmas sweater he’s ever seen. 

It’s made of deep-green wool and filled with snowflakes patterns and reindeers in white, along with speckles of red and brown. Looking from the side, Tony sees that it’s a bit small for his size (which is unfortunate, he usually takes advantage to eat a lot), but at least it feels warm. 

He immediately loves it. Nothing like an ugly sweater to get the Christmas spirit going, and Tony does love Christmas. 

As he leaves his room to go downstairs for dinner, suddenly all the wood from the walls doesn’t feel that unpleasant. He remembers why he likes the holidays so much, so why not enjoy himself while he can?

It’s snowing outside. The fireplace is lit. Christmas is two days away. 

Tony smiles as he hops the last of the steps, raising a hand to hit the ceiling above him before jumping down the last one. He feels good again, and nothing can take him down. 

Hoping Ziva’s sweater is even uglier than his, Tony chuckles out loud, the warmth of Christmas returning to him. 

It feels good to feel good. 

* * *

It's not Noah nor Chad the person he catches setting the table. She has auburn hair and a permanent frown on her face, looking around his age. Making more noise than necessary, Tony is surprised she doesn’t pay any attention, but continues focused on the task at hand as he enters the dining room. 

“Hey,” he says after a slight cough, unsure if interrupting her is the wisest thing to do. 

Tony’s doubts disappear when the frown she sports is replaced by a warm smile. “Oh, hi!” she says, her voice sounding a bit tired despite the sympathy she shows him. “You must be the new guy. I’m Rachel.” They shake hands. “Welcome to-” 

A loud noise of someone running downstairs from the adjacent room makes Rachel turn her head to it. 

“Fred! Stop chasing your sister! She isn’t a dog and neither are you!”

The only reply she gets is the distinct sound of something breaking.

“Hey, what was that?” demands Rachel, and for a second, Tony fears the command of her voice. “Frederick Finley, answer me right this instance!”

She glances at Tony sheepishly with the typical look of a parent apologizing for their children not behaving properly, but he knows that she isn’t the one to blame. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” says Tony, motioning to the other room. 

With an appreciative nod, Rachel leaves the plates as she marches to the living room with determination. Tony really doesn’t want to be Fred right now. Memories of being too naughty during long afternoons return to him quickly, as well as the various ear pullings because of it. 

“So you’ve met Rachel,” says a new voice, and Tony turns to find that Noah is now looking fondly at the wall to the other room. “She’s my daughter-in-law. Has three kids and the skills of an octopus, that girl.” He chuckles warmly. “I may partly be to blame for all the energy from my grandchildren, though. Except for Jade, she’s an exact copy of Rachel. But don’t tell her that - you know how teenagers can be. One day, she’ll understand.”

“Is your… son also staying here?” asks Tony, trying to get the conversation going.  
  
“He’s not.” Noah sighs, and immediately Tony understands he touched a delicate topic. 

“Ah,” says Tony, not asking any further. 

“Not, it’s fine.” Noah dismisses it. “He’s well, alive. He’s a marine. On deployment in the Helmand province of Southern Afghanistan. Been there for two years now.”

“Wow,” is all that Tony can say. 

“After Rachel and the kids, the corps is his passion. Michael was born to be a marine.”

“Semper Fi.”

“Are you?”

“No,” he replies with a chuckle. “But I know a very good one.”

“We all do, don’t we?”

Noah smiles a bit sadly and starts setting the table Rachael has left undone. Tony promptly helps him do it, trying to come up with something that could fill the growing silence. 

“I actually work for the navy, so to speak,” Tony catches himself saying. 

“Really?” Noah sounds interested. “What do you do there?”

Tony thinks carefully. “Boring, bureaucratic stuff. Nothing much.”

Noah chuckles warmly, shaking his head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is not,” says a new voice. 

Tony glances up to find Ziva stationed against the door frame, watching him attentively with her arms crossed against her chest. As usual, her smart eyes see past him way too much, but now hold a look he isn’t used to. Doubt maybe, or even wonder. It felt wrong to brought Noah’s attention to his job when he had just shared about his son like that, and Tony wondered if Ziva saw that and decided not to comment on it.

“Ziva! Glad you could join us.” Noah cracks a wide smile. “Thank you for helping with the fireplace. Been trying to work that out for hours now, can’t believe it was simply full.”

Tony frowns. Since when does Ziva help anyone?

“Some things are not what they seem,” she replies, and Tony feels more intrigued by the second. A stolen glance from her tells him she meant more than she let on, but as Ziva angles her chin up with pride, he sees it is nothing more than bragging.

Or is it something else?

Tony’s frown deepens. He’s getting tired of solving riddles he has no business solving. He isn’t interested in her, right? Why getting a headache while trying to find double meanings on her words when there in fact isn’t one? He hates it.

“Wise words,” replies Noah. “Please, make yourselves at home. I’m going to see if the food’s ready.”

“I will go with you,” says Ziva, without looking at Tony again. 

“Wonderful!”

Tony watches them go, disappearing behind the kitchen door. He’s left alone again, and Tony sighs at how difficult things instantly turn when she’s around, confusion weighing him down. He tries to dismiss it as he surveys the room, focusing on his surroundings instead. 

The dinner table wasn’t as wide as they let him believe. It may fit ten people, and Tony suddenly questions Noah’s previous remark about the cabin being busy for the holidays. How many people was in his definition of ‘crowded’? It was also very suspicious that an inn owner wasn’t used to strangers spending the holidays as they liked when the name of it was literally _that_. 

Tony squints his eyes to the crackling fire at one side of the room, thinking about the implications of everything. It couldn’t possibly mean these people were trying to set him and _Ziva_ together, right? 

Chuckling to no one, Tony dismisses the matter quickly. That would be an awful joke. To think strangers would play the matchmakers is not only laughable but incredibly selfish of him. Who has him, a fourteen-year-old? Justifying situations because of the thrilling hope of something exciting happening? 

This is what really _is_ happening: Ziva has hated him for a long time, perhaps even more these past couple of weeks. They need to stay at that strange, perfect cabin with strange, good-hearted people for a whole night, and that's it. Just a night and then he would find help, get back home and watch Body Heat again. Let out all that frustration and built-up tension in two hours of steamy distraction, finally. Then watch Die Hard. Of course.

He’s still thinking about how ridiculous it would be for those strangers to find an ounce of something between the two of them when Chad materializes in the dining room, sporting a beige bomber jacket and making Tony feel like an idiot. He suddenly wishes he kept wearing his damp clothes instead of an ugly Christmas sweater. 

Tony casts him a lip-tight smile, swallowing down his self-consciousness. This guy may look like a model, but why would that bother him? It’s not like it mattered, and Tony is certainly not the ugliest. In fact, he’s confident of his appearance most of the time - sometimes too much, but it’s part of his charm - so why even think about it? It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone. 

“Hey, man!” says Chad, cracking a disgusting, perfect smile. “Tony, right?”

“Chad,” answers Tony tightly.

“Chad Cohen.” He sticks out his hand, unfazed by Tony’s clear discontent. They shake hands briefly, Tony clenching his jaw. “Hey, man, about…” Chad trails off, then stretches his neck to peek into the kitchen. Tony does the same and tightens his jaw to the weird flip inside his chest. 

Ziva’s smiling. This big, wide smile directed to Noah as they take out the dishes from the oven and put them on top of the counter. Tony fears to blink and miss it, how normal she looks when she isn’t in fact speaking to him. He doesn’t know what to think now, other than get bitter again. 

So it wasn’t a problem with her, it was _him_. It was him that made her angry, it was him that made her stop smiling… God, she was beautiful like her normal scowling self, but smiling… Tony couldn’t stop staring. He wondered if he would ever be able to make her smile like that. When did something that seemed so easy turn so important? 

“Are you..?” asks Chad, taking Tony out of his stupor. His chest ached.

“No,” Tony shakes his head, then adds with a weak laugh, “We’re coworkers.”

Chad chuckles, his eyebrows shooting to the ceiling. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Tony is still looking at Ziva when he replies, “It means everything.” It comes out weaker than he anticipated, and Tony forces himself to stop staring to cast Chad a fading smile. 

“So… You good with me…” Chad motions between himself and Ziva, and Tony laughs weakly, shaking his head. 

“Go ahead. I just wouldn’t advise it.”

“I like challenges.”

“You better.”

“I know what I’m diving into.”

He really didn’t. “Right.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Chad amends quickly. “She’s beautiful, it would be a waste not to try. I mean, those eyes! That confidence! Wow. It’s hard to find. So… What’s she like?”

Putting his hands inside his pockets to try to find some self-control, Tony’s brow furrows.

“David?” he asks, glancing at Ziva laughing again in the kitchen and quickly regretting. 

“David,” Chad repeats amused, testing the name. Tony huffs out a weak chuckle. Something about the name he has for her being said by somebody else brings a bitter taste to his tongue. It shouldn’t feel like this, but it does. He can’t control it. He can’t control that someday, someone would come and call her exactly that, and that person wouldn’t be him. It couldn’t be. 

“She’s…” Tony watches Ziva grab the tray out of Noah’s hands with a smile, heading towards the dining room with a sway of her hips.

He doesn’t know what to say about her other than, “She’s a weapon.”

The first thing he notices when she enters the room to put the tray on the table is that her smile quickly disappears when she catches him staring. Tony doesn’t look away, and when their eyes meet for a second too long, he tries to fight the warmth inside his chest. It isn’t anger what he sees in them, and Tony feels that familiar question coming back to his head.

_What’s she thinking?_

The second thing Tony notices is that it smells exceptionally good. Whatever Ziva was carrying quickly incenses the room, and the sound of the fireplace cracking is the only thing that stops the rambling of his stomach from echoing soundly around the room. It looks like some sort of meat pie, and Tony finds that he’s hungrier than he even realized. 

The third thing he notices is that Ziva isn’t wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. She chose to stay in her old clothes, and Tony grows bitter against his self-control. Silently sitting next to Chad, they look good together while he looks mismatched in front of her. Inhaling deeply, Tony buries the issue along with everything else that confuses him and decides that looking even sillier is the smartest choice. It’s who he is. 

Taking out a napkin and putting it on his neck, he prompts his knife and fork onto the table and laughs along with Rachel when she comments about his eagerness to eat. She carries a dark-haired child on her arm who’s later introduced as Annie, her three-year-old. Frederick has the same blue eyes and dark hair as his sister and proudly holds himself as a scowling seven-year-old by sitting at the head of the table. 

Their third child comes later, which he supposes it’s Jade. She’s the only one between the three with the same features as their mother - bright auburn hair and big, light eyes - but stays silent as she takes her place. She looks to be around sixteen, and he doesn’t judge her. He wasn’t the easiest teenager himself. 

Tony quickly forgets about the woman in front of him who’s openly flirting with Chad when Annie seems interested in his innate ability to joke about everything. No better audience than a toddler who enjoys his silly faces and poor magic tricks, and soon Tony is laughing too, along with Fred and Rachel. Even Jade cracks a smile from time to time, and dinner goes smoother than he was expecting. These strangers aren’t bad people after all. 

“Thank God aunt Josephine isn’t here to see those table manners.” Rachel openly laughs, along with Annie and Fred giggling.

“It’s part of my charm,” replies Tony with his mouth full. Fred laughs even harder. 

“ _Do not put your elbows on the table, Frederick_ ,” impersonates Fred with a grave voice. He earns an eyebrow raise from his mother and a giggle from his younger sister. 

“Wise words, though,” replies Tony after a shared look with Rachel. “They’re going to burn a little every time you do that. With time, you’ll end up with floppy elbows just like mine.”

“Really?” asks Fred with wide eyes.

“Really,” answers Tony, sounding serious. “Why don’t you try?”

The boy looks at him alarmed, gaze darting between his mother for reassurance and Tony for confirmation. Both are pressing their lips together to keep from laughing, but as Fred looks to his own elbows and frowns, Tony can’t hold the laughter in. 

“I apologize for Josephine’s absence,” says Noah.

“Oh, please,” chimes in Chad, a bit like a whisper. Ziva lets out a weak chuckle and Tony stops laughing. 

“She’s feeling unwell,” says Noah, apologizing on her behalf. “She said she’ll meet you in the morning.”

“The longer, the merrier.”

“Chad!” exclaims Rachel from the other side of the table. 

“What?” Chad protests. “Don’t tell me you like the way she talks.”

“She just has traditional values.”

“She’s probably listening to us right now, with that witch hearing of hers that goes through the walls.”

Tony perks up his brows, not missing a beat.

“Witch hearing? Ziva. You two might get along.”

Ziva sends him a dry look. “I am sure she is not that bad,” she says to Noah, and he thanks her.

“She’s not,” Noah replies. “Josephine is just too strong-minded sometimes.”

Tony starts to smile. “Ziva.”

Ziva glares back at him. “Tony.”

He smiles widely, successfully annoying her. Rolling her eyes, Ziva looks away, and Tony is pleased that at least this reaction he can cause on her. 

“At least you two won’t have to pretend until tomorrow,” says Rachel, eyeing the two of them. Tony shakes his head, letting her know it’s not what she thinks. 

“Until forever is way better,” he grunts. 

“She certainly won't miss you tomorrow,” says Noah with a knowing chuckle. 

“We won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” says Chad amused, and even Ziva now looks at him with a strange look. 

“What do you mean, Chad?” Ziva asks, then looks straight back at Tony when she says, “Tony is going to fix the car.”

Tony scoffs. “Me?”

“It is your car, yes?”

“It is also _your_ problem.”

Ziva fakes a sweet smile. “You said so yourself it wasn’t.”

“But it is.”

“Is it?”

“We will all be here tomorrow,” interrupts Chad, and Tony isn’t surprised. This guy certainly has high hopes for the night. 

“Judging by the look of things, miss David here certainly will.” Tony isn’t discreet and Ziva ends up winning this round by not faltering - her smile is as proud and open as before. “Unfortunately, not me. Gonna find if there’s some signal up the hill, there’s a friend of mine who can get me outta here.”

Chad shakes his head vehemently. “No, dude. I mean it. You can’t leave.”

Tony scowls. Who does this guy think he is? This is starting to sound awkwardly like The Shining again. What’s he gonna do, lock them in?

“What do you mean, Chad?”

“The snow blocked the entrance. We can’t even open the front door, it’s stuck.”

Tony stills. “What?”

He glances at Ziva, who is also blinking on the spot. She didn’t know that either. 

“Yeah, the snowstorm…” Chad looks between the two of them, visibly growing worried under the wide, dangerous looks he’s receiving. “I thought you knew that. It was on the news just yesterday. They said it’s the heaviest blizzard that occurred in the last twenty years. They were predicting four meters of snow in the next 48 hours. We already have all the provisions, Noah was preparing for a busy Christmas anyway…”

“You are so funny, Chad.” Ziva chuckles, and Tony’s eyes are pulled to where her hand slowly strokes Chad’s arm. Tony can’t control the racing of his pulse but curses mentally for caring at all. 

Ziva looks like a fool. Yes, she does. 

“Chad,” says Tony tightly. 

“Yep?” Chad’s eyes are honest and friendly, despite what Tony is trying to convince himself of. 

“What didn’t you tell us sooner?” asks Tony.

“Didn’t know it was a big deal.”

“Christmas can be a big deal for some.”

“It is not his fault, Tony,” says Ziva with a scowl directed at him. 

Tony tries to control his breathing, but fails. “It is never no one’s fault to you, is it? Only mine, I get it. But I had plans.”

He stands up abruptly, heading towards the front entrance. Walking briskly, Tony feels his heart racing and isn’t surprised when Ziva follows him close behind. 

“I had too,” she argues. “We all did.”

“Oh, please.” Tony scoffs. “Don’t make me sound so bad.”

“Sorry for the words that leave your mouth, then.”

He turns to her, whose fists are already closed next to her tense body. Ziva looks like her normal self again - scowling at him with flaring nostrils and dark eyes - and Tony has an urgent need of shaking those strong shoulders.

“You’re not sorry,” he puffs, taking a step closer and watching Ziva tilting her head up because of the proximity. She doesn’t look disconcerted by his closeness, and Tony hates it. He hates how he has to force himself not to stare at her, not to constantly glance at that mouth. 

He hates that she obviously feels nothing of what he’s fighting for so long not to feel. 

“No, I am not,” Ziva replies flatly, holding his stare. She doesn’t look like backing down now, and Tony loses the rest of self-control he had when Ziva’s eyebrows shoot up, expecting a comeback. 

Tony chuckles bitterly, then points to the place they just left.

“I know you have plans with Chad there, but it’s not gonna last long. We have a job to do. We can’t just pretend that too.”

“I thought you weren’t pretending,” says Ziva with a clenched jaw. 

"Well, I’m already tired of pretending.”

Ziva's eyes are even darker when she replies, “So am I.”

Tony can’t think straight. The silence feels explosive again, this roaring sound of nothing whenever they speak half-truths about what’s simmering underneath the surface. 

Ziva is the first one to break off their stare, but he’s the first one to speak.

“Guess we will have to stay longer, then.”

She storms out of the room, but Tony can still pick her saying under her breath, “I guess so.”

He watches her go and tries to control his heavy breathing when Rachel appears carrying a wide-eyed Annie by the door. Tony turns to the window, which is now half-covered with snow. The wind is still howling outside, and the cracks of the glass frozen with time. He puts a hand on top of it, feeling the cold spread through his fingertips and calming his pulsating heartbeat. 

“Christmas!” a voice says from below, a miniature of a hand pulling the side of his trousers. 

Tony sighs before taking Annie in his arms, showing her the falling snow outside. 

“Yes, Annie.” But Tony isn’t sure of his words when he adds, “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

Ziva needs a strong drink. Urgently. Her fingers shake from keeping it all in, this self-control that’s slipping faster by the second. She remembers why she hates Christmas so much. It’s because she never fits in. This warm, carefree environment where all one does is show and receive love from their family… It’s been a long while since she last had her family with her. Perhaps not since she was a child, before her mother…

Ziva storms back to the kitchen, her blood boiling in her veins. The one thing that makes her angry is that it doesn’t _feel_ like anger. No, it feels like a magnetic pull. It’s like all her senses are tuned to one thing only, her heart beating faster because of it. She feels that familiar warmth spread from her neck to her fingertips whenever she looks at him for too long and…

 _Lezayen_. Why is she thinking about him? Stop it. She has no business thinking about him, of all people. 

And by the way, why does he fit so well? 

Ziva hates it. She simply hates it how Tony doesn’t even try to fit in, he just appears in a Christmas sweater as if it’s the expected thing to do. She can’t believe she didn’t think of it when she took a shower. Goddammit. And he looks so good too, broad shoulders in that deep green color which makes his eyes pop whenever he glances at her… She can’t stand it. It’s mind-numbing. 

The amount of times she caught herself staring is actually laughable. It’s a joke how much she has to control herself, her gaze being pulled to him even when she actively forces herself not to look. It’s a joke because he obviously isn’t affected by all of this the way she obnoxiously is. 

She hates that not even flirting with someone else affects Tony in any way. And she used all her tactics, from laughing at the most blatant jokes to soft touching to eye-gazing. And there he stays, his true, handsome self, making everyone genuinely laugh and brightening up a room as if it's the easiest thing in the world. 

Wasn’t Tony supposed to fear children? How come he can charm a little girl with the blink of an eye? Ziva’s heart beat so fast when she giggled at him balancing a spoon out of his nose, she thought it was going to fall from her chest onto the table, shatter right in front of them. 

Ziva only finds wine in the fridge, but that will have to do. The burbling of the bottle tune her senses back to reality, and the sweet taste of the wine is a relief from all the heat she’s feeling despite the cold outside. She downs all in one go and pours out another glass under the judgmental eye of _Chad_. 

He’s a good guy. Friendly, handsome, good-hearted too. But he pales in comparison to Tony’s energy and it makes Ziva want to scream. The fact he cursed everyone’s appeal and comedic value drives her mad, she can’t believe her heart is still betraying her this way. 

She’s in the middle of the second glass when she hears the echoing notes of piano ivory coming from the adjacent room, making her halt. 

No.

This can’t be. 

But for some godforsaken reason, it is undoubtedly Tony’s voice she hears in a mocking grave tone which makes her heart stills and then races all at once.

“ _Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful_ ,” Tony stretches every word, “ _And since we’ve no place to go_ ,” he chuckles, the meaning of his words hitting Ziva in the face, “ _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_.”

Not really realizing her feet were taking her to the other room, Ziva curses mentally when she sees him giggle along with Annie, who’s sitting at his side. Hoping she’s as silent as she forced herself to be over the years, Ziva still hides half her face behind the door frame, not giving Tony the satisfaction of any reaction coming from her. 

She didn't know he could play like that. Yes, maybe they've commented on it before, but she thought he didn't play. Not like this. Not at all. 

Apparently, there was a lot she still couldn't figure out about him. 

Tony continues to sing, and slowly but steadily, Ziva’s transfixed. The piano is old but still in good condition, settled next to the fireplace in a corner of the room. Its top is filled with photographs and little mementos, and along with the big Christmas tree next to it, it brings a foreign feeling to Ziva’s chest. 

She tries to fight it, she really does, but it slips her control. The low light of the fireplace and the glimmering colors from the tree creates a visual that stills her beating heart, and for once in a very long time, Ziva feels like some forgotten wish finally came true. 

It confuses her. That scene feels dreamlike, and she wonders if she downed that wine too quickly. Despite what her mind is telling her, Ziva steps closer, the glass forgotten in hand. Tony’s voice is clear and calming, and Ziva wonders when will his charm reach its bottom. 

“Play the Christmas one!” says Annie, so excited she’s jumping on the piano stool.

“Another Christmas one?” asks Tony with a smile, “I know a bunch of them. Which one's your favorite?” 

“She means the most popular one,” says Rachel and Ziva jumps from Rachel’s hand on her shoulder. She enters the room, and Ziva thanks the gods silently for Tony not paying any attention to it, or else he would have seen her - and how she’s still trying to hide all that awful emotions so badly. 

Felling a knowing heat creep up her cheeks, Ziva straightens her posture, trying to look as impassive as possible. 

She fails when Tony starts singing again, right after a flourish of his hands that makes Annie giggles out loud. Fred is now darting from couch to couch, and as the piano’s rhythm picks up, he starts laughing as well, twirling on the spot. 

“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need._ ” Tony looks at Annie, who’s smiling so wide Ziva thinks her cheeks are going to pop at any time. 

He misses a beat, but Annie seems so happy, Tony just laughs it off. 

“ _I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree_.”

He stops singing then, and lets the notes carry the song. Ziva sees him struggle to get it right, but it’s not an easy one. Annie has now jumped from the stool to dance with Fred around the tree, and Rachel is clapping enthusiastically with Noah from the other side of the room. 

“ _I don't need to hang my stocking, there upon the fireplace_.” 

Ziva’s in awe with how everyone is instantly happy, as if the snowstorm outside wasn't important enough to worry for too long. Tony always had this ability to distract even the coldest of individuals, but this was something else.

She wondered if she would ever find someone this charming, or if he cursed that for her forever. 

“ _Santa Claus won't make me happy, with a toy on Christmas Day_.”

She has this urgent need of doing something. Anything, other than just staring at him in wonder. She must look like such a fool, wine glass forgotten midair and eyes unblinking. Ziva watches everything from afar, not knowing how to act or how to silence her beating heart. 

But not his voice, not his charm, not even his smile, can compare to when Tony glances up to look straight at her in a distant corner of the room and say the words in a way that feels like to her and her only. 

“ _I just want you for my own_ ,” Tony sings, and for a moment, Ziva cannot breathe. “ _More than you could ever know_.”

Her heart is so loud she thinks he might be able to hear it. His eyes pierce the air and she’s unable to look away, wondering if the atmosphere feels that warm just for her or if it is the fireplace’s fault. 

Ziva feels like she can’t move, or else all that she has been feeling for years might crumble away. She’s stuck in time, and there’s only them. Even in a room filled with people, even with the snowstorm outside and the fire cracking so loudly, she feels like she can hear his heavy breathing right close to hers. 

“ _Make my wish come true_ ,” Tony says more than he sings, “ _All I want for Christmas... is you_.”

He stops playing, and Ziva thinks her heart stops with him. 

They hold their stare, and Ziva's mind goes blank. It must be so, so clear now how much of a fool she looks.

Has he done all of that just to disarm her? He must know the effect he has on her and just how easily he can drive her speechless.

He must start laughing at any given moment now. 

Ziva downs the rest of her wine and clanks the glass on top of the mantelpiece. Her heart still gallops inside her chest when she looks away, Tony’s eyes narrowing for a split second the last thing she sees before running from the room. 

She can’t believe she let him get to her so easily. It’s a known fact he’s good at luring women, but this is cruel. It’s downright cruel to make her feel things like these knowing full well nothing will ever happen. It couldn't happen. 

Ziva shuts the door just in time for Tony to start another song and angry tears slide down her cheeks when she recognizes it immediately. 

“ _You’re a mean one_ ,” Tony screams till his voice reaches upstairs, “ _Mrs. Grinch!_ ”

Ziva scoffs to an empty room. 

“ _You really are a heel! You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel!_ ”

“Argh!” Ziva takes a pillow and covers her ears with it, falling onto the bed. 

“ _You’ve got garlic in your soul, Mrs. Grinch!_ ” Tony’s voice is filled with despise. “ _I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!_ ”

Fine then. Then neither would she. She hates, hates, hates him. Hates his face, hates his name, hates his cleverness. She hates how annoying his conversations are, she hates how he thinks so highly of himself, she hates how good he is with children. How good he is with everyone, really. How easy it is to get under her skin. 

Tony’s name is the last thing in Ziva’s cloudy mind before she falls into dreamy, drunk, dirty sleep. 

* * *

A light knock sounds on Ziva’s door right before a voice whispers inside the room, waking her despite the quietness. She curses in her mind for interrupting her dreaming. It was a very, _very_ nice dream. 

“Ziva,” someone hisses from her door. 

“Hm?” Ziva’s mind is still trying to process. 

“Ziva,” repeats Tony, and in two steps, Ziva’s standing in front of him, knife raised to his throat and seeing the white of Tony’s eyes glow in the dark.

She can't believe he had the nerve to appear there again, but there he was. Ready to humiliate her like always. But this time, she won't let him, no. No, this time, she will be armed - with her weapons, and wit and braveness. Enough of Anthony DiNozzo getting the best of things. 

“Gee,” Tony gulps. “Easy, tiger.”

Ziva lets the knife down after a moment of consideration. No use in hurting him just yet. 

“Why are you here?”

Still eyeing the knife with some degree of suspicion, Tony continues, “I need to ask you something.”

“Ready to die, yes?”

“No, why-” 

“Last words.”

“Would you please hear me out, just this once?” Tony whines, sounding disconcerted. “Y’know, sometimes you’re the one who talks too much.”

Ziva clicks her tongue. “Not the wisest plea.”

“Fine. Just-” Tony inhales as if deciding what to do. “Would you please come with me?”

“Why.”

“Trust me.” 

Ziva raises one of her eyebrows, but Tony doesn’t move from where he’s stationed at her door. 

“Would you trust me on this?” His eyes wait for an answer that doesn’t come. She won't give him, they know better than that. 

Ziva continues to stare. Tony finally settles for, “Fine. Just. Come with me.”

She watches Tony disappear and finds her bare feet following him despite herself. Walking into his room, Ziva can’t hold back her surprise to see… Well, what was meant to be a bed? Now it looks like a pool, or a lake. 

Completely drenched, the dripping on the mattress the continuous sound of disappointment as it wets the bed to an unusable state. Coming directly from the rooftop and apparently not close to stopping anytime soon, the water leaves no spot untouched, its surface glistening from the light coming from the hallway. 

“So,” states Ziva flatly, though she already senses what’s about to follow. 

“So. I cannot sleep here.” Tony says the words she’s scared of. 

She tries to lock it in, that instant racing of her pulse.

“Truly, truly a shame.”

He turns to her expectantly. “And?”

“Maybe the floor will take you?”

Tony huffs with disbelief. “That’s it? Wow.”

Ziva returns the look. “You’re the one who woke me up in the middle of the night!”

“It’s not even late!”

“It is if I plan to wake up early.”

“For what?” Tony sounds curious. “We’re literally locked in.”

“For…” But Ziva can’t come up with a good enough motive when he’s standing so close to her like that. “… reasons.”

Tony’s eyebrows lift to the ceiling. “You weren’t even snoring yet.”

So he’s mocking her. “How is it going to be?”

Tony frowns. “It’s going to be what?”

“Your choice of death.”

“Oh, for fuc-” He sighs exasperatedly, looking away and then back at her again. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Ziva’s breathing halts, but she forces it back to normal. “And where will I sleep?”

“In… it?”

Her heart is tattooing the inside of her ribs when she asks with a laugh, “With… you?”

“No.” Tony chuckles sheepishly. “Not _with me_ , just… Y’know. With me.”

Ziva narrows her eyes, but steps closer. She sees Tony visibly gulp when she tilts her chin up, and for once, is actually pleased with the ability to intimidate him despite everything. 

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

She sees Tony’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he replies, “No! No, I mean.” He shakes his head vehemently and some small part inside her dies. “No.” 

“Then what.” Ziva’s tired of all this nonsense. 

Tony skims her face for a moment and appears to be choosing his words carefully. 

“Would you mind lending me one side of your bed?”

He must be a fool to think she’d do that _willingly_. 

“And exactly. Why. Would I do that.”

“Because… I’m... kindly asking you to?” 

Ziva huffs right before walking away, but Tony grabs her arm a second later and she’s instantly annoyed at what the touch does to her heartbeat. 

“C’mon,” he pleads. “I have no place to sleep.”

“Oh,” Ziva yanks her arm away, scowling. “It is truly unfortunate of me to be the only single woman in here for you coach into the same bed. Keep dreaming, Tony.” She looks right into his eyes before spitting to his face, “When bugs fly.”

She's surprised by the flicker of amusement that passes Tony’s eyes.

“Pig.”

Ziva’s confused. “I am glad you know that.”

Tony frowns and continues to whine when she makes a move to go. “Bugs do fly! Hey! Please.” 

Ziva tries to close her door, but one of his hands stops her from doing so. 

“Please,” Tony asks. “I promise you you won’t even notice I’m here.” 

Ziva wants to laugh. _As if_. As if he would sleep next to her and she wouldn’t notice that. As if she wouldn’t have to control herself for not doing any foolishness… _As if_ she wouldn’t care. Of course, he wouldn’t, but… Yes. He wouldn’t find it strange, would he? Then why would _she_? Why would she even care about it when he obviously didn't? 

“Please.” Tony’s eyes are honest and expectant, and he briefly reminds her of how that little boy looked at him at dinner. 

Ziva curses to herself, and blames the hour for her poor choices. 

“OK,” Ziva replies despite the sirens blaring inside her head. She’s midway across the room when she halts and turns, Tony briskly hitting her because of it. “Do not,” Ziva says tightly. “Make me regret this.” 

He glances at the knife between them for an instant before raising his gaze back to hers.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me that one more time and we’re done.”

“Yes,” Tony whispers. 

Ziva watches him watching her, their eyes meeting in the dark. 

The moment stretches, and Ziva’s heartbeat increases once again. Tony’s so close she feels him sharing her breath. She wonders if he sees it faltering. She wonders what’s he thinking. She wonders what would be like to kiss him, feel those lips warming her own. 

If Ziva had stayed a moment longer watching him, she would’ve seen Tony’s gaze being pulled to her mouth. 

She didn’t, though. 

“Right side,” she motions to the bed, turning away to get a grip of her emotions. She can’t stay looking at him, or else she would do it. She would do things she would undoubtedly regret. 

After the hissing of the bedsheets, Tony’s already lying down when his voice invades her mind again. 

“Ziva,” he says, and Ziva continues to stare at the wall in front of her, her knife safe under her pillow. 

“Hm?” is all she can muster, and wonders for the tenth time that night if he can hear her pounding heartbeat. 

She feels his warmth next to her and Tony moves on the mattress after a minute. She stays with her back turned to him, but it’s like she knows his every move. He can't stand still, and it’s like she can watch him without even looking at him. 

“Nothing.” 

Ziva continues to stare at the wall, studying the cracks between the tiles. 

“Goodnight,” says Tony, and it wasn’t supposed to hurt this way, was it?

His breathing slows down to slumber, and it’s not long before Ziva’s own tiredness kicks in again and she’s curled up against him, clenching the bedsheets to her chin. 

This time, Ziva’s sleep is dreamless. 

Though until the moment her eyes close, all she does is dream. 


End file.
